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 Oct 2013 Maggie
Victoria Rose
It's ironic how I write about love
when the only love I have experienced
was when I was a young girl
and some of my parent's furniture was older
than myself

I don't know if I am allowed to call it love
because at the time I wasn't so obsessed
with thinking about his smile and the palette of colours
within his eyes
instead I focused only on perfect plastic dolls
and disguising the crumbs that fell
onto my dress when I stole from the cookie jar

It was a love so selfish that when he kissed another girl's cheek
I turned scarlet with anger
and sabotaged the sculptures she had created
out of blue and green plastic blocks

but before the sculpture even hit the carpeted floor
I was already over the so-called heartbreak,
with my eye on another little boy
who laughed at what I had just accomplished.

Nobody has ever been infatuated by me since that day
and my love has never been anything but unrequited
and unwanted
and frustrating
and yet I continue to fabricate feelings of love out of thin air,
writing them down on crumpled sheets of paper
and imagining what it would feel like
if any of the things I wrote about
ever came
true.
 Oct 2013 Maggie
Anna2000
First month, first seat change. we were on opposite sides, no interaction. I relish this, i am not a
BOLD or EXTROVERTED person
some might say I am shy or introverted
now that the time has come, I am not ready to change seats,
to take the chance of sitting closer, forced interaction,
I am nervous,
but am calmed with the thought that chances are, we'll be seated even farther apart,
I was wrong.
our elbows will brush, our knees will touch, our gazes will meet.
I hear the words coming out of the teachers mouth,
but  am stunned into silence ,
my whole being shaken,
our names are called,
our seats given.
To some, this may seem silly, immature, an overreaction.
For them, this may be true, in this situation calm, collected, thinking: this is no big deal.
But with dread curdling in your stomach as you snap to,
stumbling to your seat,
this is an earthquake shaking the earth, a volcano spitting ashes,
a panic attack waiting to happen.
and it pounces.
seated, trying not to squirm, to shake, to ****;
wondering what he's thinking, trying not to stare.
he thinks you don't see,
the glances he shoots the short foot between you,
thinks your engrossed in the teacher, the clock, the pencil
any thing but him.
But your any thing but engrossed, you see every shake, gaze,
fell every brush of the hand.
Finally, this long hour is over, the mixture of excitement and torture has come to an end.
As is to be expected, on your way still in has gaze, you trip, you stumble, your face cherry red;
embarrassed, but thankful,
that he doesn't have a class with an even more abundant chance of embarrassment.
over the day,
you forget the way he gazes,
his shy way
different from the others,
the way he's taller,
in a way that makes you feel safe, flushed, happy, even if their is no chance of him being yours.
But then lunch comes,
you sit down,
ready to devour food that can only fill your stomach, not your soul as much as you wish it would, or
could;
but looking across,
you spot him, watching you,
his gaze surpassing the walls of people, as much as a shy person wouldn't like,
is it coincidence that he found the one gap with a view of me?
is he staring at me?
what to do?
with all this questing running your mind,
your appetite flee's,
and so do I,
to my safe haven within the books.
tomorrow, the nervousness has subsided, its over, your over, its done.
but then, on the way to first period,
our paths cross,
glances exchanged,
blushes made.
You know that this is not over, not done,
the time has come for class to begin.
I've tried to forget, to overcome this nervousness, but I've been defeated,
ground to a fine powder of nerves by a crush.
our knees bounce in anticipation,
our pencils tap,
our feet twitch.
time to share the book,
the dreaded closeness.
Finally it happens,
the brush of the elbows.
we both feel it,
the sparks that glow blue,
the cheeks that grow red.
we have been given a gift, a chance,
to overcome shyness,
to create something wonderful.
but to take that chance, to accept this gift means time, courage.
and every day until then,
this tension will be relieved
and i will be a nervous wreck.
We started on opposite sides,
but fate pulled us together, forced a chance.
now we sit close, still tense, still wired,
but strangely happy,
exhilarated,
alive.
to this day, he still sits in the gap :)
 Oct 2013 Maggie
Aista
She was gone
 Oct 2013 Maggie
Aista
A smile on the lip
Tears in the eyes,
Scars on the wrists
A mouth full with lies.
A sad little girl.

The one who sits back the class,
The one that wears large huge bracelets,
The girl who doesn't speak
The girl that her eyes are filled with tears.
Her.
The pretty tiny sad girl.

She was tired,
She hates her life,
She wished to go to a new different world
She closed her eyes,
One two three four five.

And before everyone knows,
she was gone.
 Oct 2013 Maggie
Autumn
I have written him so many times.
and put it on this site.
or in that notebook.
I have thought and analyzed the "why?"
and came up with no justifiable conclusion.
you etched away my sanity,
stole my innocence,
and yet I still ponder you.
I still care.
no matter how many times I say I don't care, i'm actually thinking about it all day.
I actually let it bother me.
when I see you and her.
I am satisfied.
I am happy for her, that she found someone.
I am happy that it gives me a great reason to not let myself deliberately think about you.
but when I find myself hoping your around that corner,
anticipating it so much,
and then you aren't there...
the disappointment seizes my entire body,
wipes the smile right off my face.
and causes me to internally slap myself.
then when I see you in English,
and you tempt me,
on purpose,
to see if I will take your delicious bait,
I refuse,
I will not fall for you yet again,
I am done with your madness.
I will not let you know that i care for you still,
I will not give you that
satisfaction.
I promise, i do like another, and another.
they are just as perfect if not better.
yet my conscious is still hooked on you.
for some reason i wish i hadn't known.
On the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month
At the eleventh hour
Silence rings out loudly
As free people stand
In silent tribute
Heads down
And Chest out proudly

When the silence rules the land
What is inside your head
Are you thinking of those who lived
Are you thinking of the dead
The silence is a moment
To be thankful to be free
To reflect upon the price paid
For the unborn, you, and me

When the silence rules the land
Truly, do what's right
Think of those who aren't here
Those who've gone into the light
Think, would I ever do this
Could I do what these men did
They died as men, as soldiers
When they left, most...still a kid

On the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month
At the eleventh hour
When you stand and wait
Think of all those soldiers
Who passed the pearly gates
Think, of all your treasures
And, think....my life is quite nice
Because freedom isn't free to have
Freedom comes with a high price
 Oct 2013 Maggie
Abigayle Carolyn
I get this feeling sometimes
In which I just feel like death is just around the corner;
So close,
Almost there.
I get so happy inside,
Finally my time has come.

But the moment never happens.
Because I am trapped here:
I am living in Hell.

Who knows, maybe I already did die.
And I somehow ended up in Hell
Being punished for my sins.

But you know what?
I don't know what i did to deserve this.
Any of this.

Really?
Is the torture really necessary?
Teasing me with small things that may,
At some point in time,
Make me happy.

Then taking it away from me,
Until i am left there,
Empty, worthless, broken.
I already don't want to be here.

Can you at least tell me what I did?
What I did to deserve all of this
Hatred, anger, towards myself

God help me.
If there even is a God
God, Zeus, Jesus, Abraham, whatever or whoever you are;

Why are you doing this to me?

What did I do?
Can you give me a sign.
A reason.

Why am I trapped?
Not dead,
Nor alive.

Why am I here?

Why am I chosen?

What did I do?

Why even create me in the first place,
When I have no point in being here.
I only cause people pain and misery in the end...

Why am I alive?

Why am I dead?

Why am I here?

Why me?
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